


Swing Low

by Renne



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Reunions, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-13
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renne/pseuds/Renne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He's sprawled on his back on ground that is soft and yielding, grass under his hands and not a single piece of coral rock is within reach.</i> Haldane wakes up somewhere he thinks can't quite be real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing Low

When Haldane opens his eyes it takes him far too long to realise that everything is wrong. Not just a little bit, but completely and utterly.

He's sprawled on his back on ground that is soft and yielding, grass under his hands and not a single piece of coral rock is within reach. Fresh air has replaced the choking stench of decay and napalmed ridges. The crash of artillery no longer echoes in his ears; instead he hears birds and leaves, and beneath that the faint strains of music. Maybe this is just a dream or delusion. Maybe any moment now he'll wake up, a hand shaking his shoulder, to lead all those bright, shining boys back into the meat grinder.

God, he hopes not.

Chancing a movement that could ruin the fantasy, he turns his head. It's green as far as he can see; thick grass and spreading, widely spaced trees. It's as different from the wet green of close, humid jungle or the relentless grey of sun-blasted coral as it could possibly be. It reminds him of home.

Music wafts on the breeze, curling around him, luring him to his feet. As nice as it is laying there in the sun, he can't help his curiosity. He follows the sounds and Christ, he knows it's just a guitar but it sounds so familiar and he can't put a finger on why. It's only when a voice joins in that he suddenly knows; it's not the voice of an angel but it's one he knows from the end of the Earth.

As he nears the source of the music, he stops in his tracks. He knew the voice was Hillbilly Jones', but he didn't expect to _see_ him, sitting in a clearing where the ground gently slopes away, his beloved guitar cradled in his hands. He looks like New Zealand before Guadalcanal and Norfolk before New Zealand; thin but healthy in his impossibly white t-shirt, dog-tags gleaming against his chest in the sunshine, dungarees clean and serviceable.

His feet are bare and grass stained.

_It's not possible. It can't be possible._

Haldane braces himself with a shaking hand on the tree beside him, the bark rough under his fingers. 'Oh God, Eddie.'

It's like a blow when Haldane remembers the last time he spoke Hillbilly's name; over his friend's lifeless body in the Umurbrogols with no time at all to grieve. It all floods back as he stares at Hillbilly, vibrant and _alive_ and God, he doesn't even know what to do with that. With whatever has happened to put him here, right now.

Wherever here and now is.

The answer is a logical one and would have come to him in time, but when Hillbilly raises his head sharply at his name and turns (fingers stuttering across strings a shimmer of discordant noise quickly stifled) the stricken look in his eyes stops Haldane in his tracks.

Haldane knows, Christ, he _knows_ right to his very bones.

This isn't a dream or delusion. This is the end of days.

Hillbilly gazes up at Haldane with a sharp inhale and too bright eyes and when he blinks rapidly and looks away, Haldane can see the tightening of his jaw, the taut tendon in his neck. For a long moment neither moves, then Hillbilly swipes the back of his hand across his cheek and turns back. He looks at Haldane in silence, before swallowing convulsively. 'Come and sit with me,' he finally manages, patting the ground next to him.

It's with a slow and heavy heart that Haldane moves forward to settle on the grass by Hillbilly's side. Reaching out a tentative hand, he touches Hillbilly's shoulder. The warmth of Hillbilly's body radiates through the thin cotton.

With a faint smile, Hillbilly says, 'Yeah, I'm real. You're real. As far as I can tell, all this here is just about as real as it'll ever get.' His smile fades and he bends over the guitar a long moment, picking out minor notes that hang wistfully in the air. 'But I didn't... didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon. I was just gonna stick 'round this place 'til you showed.' He stills the strings and finally glances over at Haldane. 'I'da waited as long as I had to.'

Haldane knows his men have always given him friendship and a loyalty beyond what he deserved, but this is too much even for him to cope with. That Hillbilly would wait for him here. That he would even want to. Jesus. Haldane buries his face in his hands.

After a moment he feels Hillbilly's fingers cup the back of his neck, gentling him until he finally sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands and raising his head.

'Hey,' Hillbilly says lightly. 'Hey. What else was I gonna do? I mean, it's not like I got anything better to do with my time, is it?' Again his attempt good humour wanes and he sighs and shakes his head. 'God, look at you. I was hoping I wouldn't see you 'til you were old and grey, but it can't have been long at all. What's it been? A week? A month?'

Haldane looks down at his hands. They're clean and his nails aren't ragged and for a heartbeat it's the strangest thing about all of this. 'Not even. It was – God, it was two days at most after you – after what happened. We moved out to Hill 140 to relieve 2nd Battalion. I don't honestly remember anything after that.'

'Yeah,' says Hillbilly. 'I think that's normal. Not remembering, I mean. I don't remember anything of what happened to me.' His voice is low and slow and troubled. 'I'm not sure I want to know what happened.' But when he cuts a glance sideways, Haldane sees something different, something almost pleading in his eyes. _Tell me_.

'I wasn't there when you... I only – I saw you when they brought you out.' Haldane rubs at the bridge of his nose, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. 'Mortars were on stretcher bearers duty. They were the ones who brought you out.'

Of all things Haldane expects to see on Hillbilly's face, guilt is the very last. '...Oh Christ. Were they okay? The boys, I mean?'

The question is like a heart punch and Haldane inhales sharply. Try as he might, he can't stop the pain that bleeds into his voice when he says, 'Eddie... no one was okay.' He remembers the expressions of Burgin and Sledge and de l'Eau and even Snafu Shelton, his relentless Cajun motormouth stopped right up at the sight of Hillbilly's bloodstained body. Poor Gunny Haney looked as destroyed as Haldane had felt. Hollowed. Empty.

Hillbilly reaches out to him again (strange, when Haldane was the one who usually did the touching before) and squeezes his wrist in a silent apology. Haldane continues, struggling to control his tone. 'They said it was a Jap sniper. It would've been quick.'

Hillbilly huffs a soft, wry laugh. 'Coulda been worse then,' he says. 'Least I wasn't blown up by a Nip mortar.'

It was bad enough, Haldane wants to say, because dead was dead and for a moment it was like the whole world had stopped. But he's finding it harder and harder to remember Hillbilly dead on the stretcher; common sense rejected his memories in the face of Hillbilly alive. And besides, Haldane doesn't _want_ to remember, not when Hillbilly's by his side, face tipped up to the sky, his eyes reflecting blue and sunshine curling golden in his hair.

Haldane sighs, leans against Hillbilly's shoulder and Hillbilly leans back, because that's what they do. His presence is a comfort Haldane never thought he'd have ever again and by God, it feels so good.

'Well,' he eventually says. 'What now?'

Hillbilly glances at him. 'I don't rightly know, skipper. I'm guessing we can do anything want.'

Haldane laughs and pats Hillbilly's knee. 'That sounds good.' He closes his eyes, enjoying the warm sun on his face. After a moment he realises something is niggling at him and cracks an eye open, peering at the man at his side. 'Eddie?'

'Mm?'

'Call me Andy.'


End file.
